Another plank road hits us before the sun sets behind. It’s a short one with the inn right at its end. Almost there.
Fires burn a bright orange in the purple and blueish sky. Crumbling walls enclose a shaded courtyard. Fields of tall grass stretch all around. The men are fast separating the beasts from their load.
A long hallway leads to the kitchen. “We’ll sit here, the rest of the men will find their place in the rooms,” Lanying says, putting me between the roaring stoves. Cauldrons boil over, a hefty stew brews, meat sizzles on large skewers, and the stink of charred fat chokes the air.
Dark tea is served in large bowls. I take a sip, and my mind slowly descends from the bridge behind me. What a day.
Boots tramp the earth-beaten floor. Foreign tongues utter brusque orders, and a
